Remus pulled on a jacket. Then, he pointed to the teacup. "On the count of three," he directed. Remus counted, allowing them to grasp the portkey at the same time.
When he touched the teacup himself, Remus met immediately with the familiar dizzying sensation of portkey travel, and next he knew, he was being dumped on his arse on a steep hillside. The air was chilly. Tall pine trees spotted the slope around him. A snow-capped ridge towered over him. Remus shivered despite his jacket.